Chapter 13: Cold Ice

Lars took one more step, and Ty put his hand flat against his chest.

It did not push. It just stopped him.

"Don't talk," Ty said. "Not one more word about why."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good. Because if you say you couldn't help it, I will hit you, and then you'll need a new excuse for Mankato."

Lars's mouth closed.

Ty took his hand back, opened the door, and walked out.

Cullen was waiting in the hall with the chip bag folded shut.

He looked at Ty's face, and he did not ask anything. He just fell into step beside him.

On Friday morning the team bus idled in the dark outside the arena with its door folded open.

The travel sheet was taped inside, on the glass, in square black handwriting.

Ty had read it a hundred times without reading it. He read it now.

INGRAM, last row, beside the lavatory. INGRAM, room 412, single.

He stood on the bottom step with his bag on his shoulder and the cold pouring in behind him.

Then a hand reached past his arm and pulled the pen off its string.

It was Lars.

He did not look at Ty. He looked at the sheet, and he crossed out the last row in one hard line.

Behind them the team stopped talking.

Lars wrote INGRAM, row one, window. Under it he wrote HOLMGREN, row one, aisle.

He wrote INGRAM, 412, and a name beside it. PRATT.

"Cap," Cullen said, with great interest. "I'm in a room with Prince?"

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